


THERE IS NO COFFEE AFTER A ZOMBIE OUTBREAK

by kyrene



Category: Resident Evil: Apocalypse (2004), Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Crossover, Implied Incest, Other, Threesome - F/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-10-08
Updated: 2010-10-08
Packaged: 2017-10-12 12:30:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,121
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/124831
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kyrene/pseuds/kyrene
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's been five years since the zombies rose, and there are some things that Dean Winchester misses.</p>
            </blockquote>





	THERE IS NO COFFEE AFTER A ZOMBIE OUTBREAK

**Author's Note:**

> This is jest a crackfic crossover for smut's sake. Stealing characters and situations from "Supernatural" and the three "Resident Evil" movies, but completely ignoring major plot-points from both, in order to have a little more fun. ^_~ Forgive me, go with it, and I hope that you enjoy the ride!

It just figured. All the ghouls and ghosts that they'd dealt with over the years, all the demons they'd sent back to Hell, and the end of the world came at the hands of fucking _zombies_!

And not just your run-of-the-mill zombies. Zombies created by an amoral, uncaring, but not necessarily evil corporation. A result of greed and the inevitable fact that when corporate America did anything "idiot proof", there were always some idiots around who still managed to screw everything up anyhow.

At least, that was as much as the Winchester brothers had been able to discover, the past five years. There was no more internet, no more television, not even any radio, and the best that they could hope for was to run into other people who had survived the zombie uprising. Not many of those, but they kept moving, kept the Impala running and though it had almost killed Dean to mar her sleek lines, had armored her so that she could take a crowd of hungry undead, plowing through the bodies like a thresher through wheat.

It was actually kind of a rush, once Dean had finally given up on worrying about the Impala's paint getting ruined by zombie guts. And it didn't matter that Sammy rolled his eyes when Dean whooped as zombie parts bounced off his hood. Because they were still alive and the Impala was still running.

Gasoline was constantly getting harder to find, of course, but there was no way Dean was giving up his baby. Besides, without the car, there'd be no way to listen to his tunes. Life without the Impala would be unbearable. Life without his cock rock, unthinkable.

Sammy took it all in stride. There was something haunted in his eyes that never went away, but Dean knew that his own eyes looked the same. They'd survived the end of the world, both of them, together. But seeing so much death, so many people wiped out and made over into the walking undead... well, they'd always fought so hard to protect the innocents, and now this. Dean doubted there was even one innocent person left on the planet. Because there was no innocence that could be maintained when the person sitting beside you could turn and take a bite out of you at any moment.

Five years and they'd managed to keep from getting bitten. Five years staying alive by moving, by scavenging gutted stores, eating out of cans and overgrown gardens and what animals they could shoot and cook. Five years without a hot shower or a decent cup of coffee. But it was all right, because they were both alive, and Dean had his Sammy by his side.

And then one day, after five long years, all the zombies just fell over. As though someone somewhere had pulled their strings. They collapsed and started to rot, like corpses were supposed to do, and Dean and Sam had to make tracks for Canada, just to escape the rising stench.

As much of a comfort as it was to have the zombie problem dealt with, as much of as mystery as it was, everything else was secondary to _getting the hell out of there_! Because when an entire nation began to decay in the middle of the summer heat.... Well, the sulfurous pits of hell didn't have much on any major metropolitan area.

Canada still had tracts of land that were mostly forest, and so they headed north. They should have figured that they wouldn't have been the only ones to have that idea, should have figured that they'd run into other survivors. They should have expected it, but it still came as something of a surprise.

The campsite they found just after dusk one day was off the road but within sight as they drove past. Tents and campfires ringed with armored vehicles, enough for about a dozen people, maybe twenty if they were cozy. Even from a distance they could see firearms bristling. The zombies might be on their way to becoming history now, but that didn't mean there weren't still dangers. Lots of folks had gone feral with the destruction of civilization. There were just as many tainted minds as there were good hearts; if not more.

Sammy got on the CB radio they'd lifted from somewhere and managed to contact the camp; Dean didn't ask how. They weren't exactly welcomed with open arms, everyone remaining wary -- including the Winchesters -- but at least it wasn't a hail of bullets they faced. Dean was okay with that.

And, damn, it was good to see other people. Humans, alive and not rotting, with intelligence in their eyes and words on their lips. Someone had a boom box and there was music playing somewhere in the camp. It was some emo crap that had been popular just before the zombies arose, but it was still good to hear music coming from somewhere other than his car speakers.

And there were chicks. Real, honest to god women. With tits and everything.

Five years was a long time to spend with no one but your brother and the occasional chance encounter with other survivors. And not many of those were lookers, so it was a good thing that he and Sam had what anyone else might consider to be a rather loose set of ethics when it came to sexual morality. Given the choice between a warm body and one's hand... well, there wasn't really much contest. And they'd always been close, even before the end of the world. Taking that final step hadn't really been that difficult, and they actually had really great sex. When they weren't pissing one another off royally, of course. They _were_ brothers first and forever.

Five years, and so it was something of a fucking miracle, in Dean's opinion, that they had just run across a band of survivors that would have looked good even _before_ the zombies wiped out humanity. Anyone who survived had to be tough, but these folks hadn't become all jagged edges like so many they'd encountered. They were hardened, yes, lean muscle and bright eyes. But there were curves on the chicks and the guys weren't half bad either.

There were three who stood out, who caught Dean's eye immediately. Three who seemed to be nominally in charge, who had the biggest campfire and their own tents.

The blonde was fucking smoking, like sex on the nicest pair of legs he'd seen in five years. Looked a little like what Jo might have been like if she'd grown up out of her teens, though, and so Dean wasn't at all disappointed, was actually a bit relieved, when it was Sammy she latched onto and dragged to her tent, with the ominous, promising command; "Let's go and make a baby."

Though, really, why she picked the less attractive of the two brothers kind of confused him. Must have been the muscles, Dean decided. Sammy wasn't ugly, of course, but it was his body that really drew the eye. Especially in midsummer, when all he was wearing was an old tank and a pair of stained jeans.

"That was Claire," the woman lounging before the campfire offered, smirking at him through the flames, and Dean smirked back, settling into the lawn chair he'd been offered. Looked as though they were going to be spending at least the night, if not longer. Lucky bastard Sammy.

"She really wants a kid?" Dean asked, quirking a brow. He'd heard lamer come on lines, but there'd been something manic about the gleam in her eyes.... Something that made him think that she had meant it.

"The Earth needs to be repopulated," the woman said, and she sounded completely serious as well. "Now that the zombies are gone."

Dean nodded. Made sense. And women had those biological clocks, right? Well, maybe not the chick right in front of him.

Claire had been sharp and golden, her skin tanned by the sun, her hair gleaming. She'd been gorgeous, but this woman truly blew her out of the water.

Copper curls around a leonine face, flawless complexion, perfect body.... Her brows were arched, her eyes gleaming icy blue-green even in the firelight. Her lips were plush and plump, ripe for kissing... or cocksucking. She had high cheekbones and a strong chin. Her body was stripped to nothing but muscle, and yet there was still something about her that struck him as feminine. He couldn't have said why, because he was pretty sure that she could have easily broken him in half. But she was all woman.

The man sitting a little behind her was damned hot too, though he didn't draw the eyes the way she did. Tall, dark, and stubbly, with eyes that gleamed black in the firelight and a body even more pumped than Sammy's. He was quiet, still, and yet deadly. Dean was pretty sure that before the zombie outbreak this man had been a soldier or a mercenary of some sort. His body language was clear enough to read. He was with the chick, but she was his superior.

She was....

"You're not entirely human, are you?" Dean asked, before thinking that it might not be an entirely tactful opening. A lifetime of hunting critters that had been born of the supernatural had honed his instincts well enough that once he was able to look past the perfect tits and the lush mouth, he could see that clearly. He wasn't sure what she _was_ exactly, but nothing completely human moved with the controlled power and impossible grace that she did.

Captain Sexy-Stubble tensed slightly, but she just smiled at Dean, one brow quirking in a way that indicated she might possibly be impressed. Or perhaps he had passed some sort of subtle test. Or maybe she was just horny.

Yeah, that one. He was sure that was it. Wishful thinking, maybe?

"You're pretty good," she murmured, her voice smooth but a little rough at the same time, a sensual purr of a contradiction. He smirked back at her, relaxing as most of the tension left her man's body. "Most people can't tell until they see me fight."

"Wouldn't mind seeing that," Dean drawled before he thought, stretching his feet out toward the fire. Captain Sexy-Stubble leaned back slightly as well, his face largely lost in shadow, but Dean was pretty sure that he was no threat, that he'd follow the woman's lead. "Too bad there're no more zombies." He frowned, realizing what he'd said. "Well, not _bad_ , you know. That's actually a good thing. I just meant...."

He trailed off, determined not to begin babbling and backtracking as he was ashamed to admit he had a tendency to do when faced with a smart, confident woman what he wanted to fuck. As he stopped talking, he noted that there was something about her face, her eyes, something haunted and yet satisfied, that made him think....

"It was you, wasn't it?" he asked, his brows raising. His heart pulsing in his chest, adrenaline rising with the realization. " _You're_ the reason the zombies all dropped!"

She lowered her eyes, her mouth twisting. Now she looked a little bitter. "Yes. That was me."

Suddenly his respect swelled sevenfold. As well as his desire to have sex with this amazing woman. "Holy fuck!" Five years and all he and Sammy had been able to discover was that it had been the Umbrella Corporation that had fucked the world up the ass. They hadn't even been close to figuring out how to _stop_ the zombies. "I mean.... Just... holy fuck!"

"I had to," she said, her voice low and rougher. She glanced up at him, and he caught a flicker of sea-blue, but he couldn't read her expression. "It was my fault they got out in the first place, that the virus was released...."

"It wasn't," Captain Sexy-Stubble spoke up, his voice firm, his accent obvious in only a few words, though Dean wasn't quite sure what the accent _was_. "You know it wasn't."

"It was," she insisted, not turning to look at him. Her shoulders were hunched, but she didn't look devastated. Just troubled. "If we'd listened to the Red Queen in the original Hive under Raccoon City...."

"Excuse me," Dean interrupted, raising a hand. "No offense, but I don't really need to hear the story. The zombies happened, and thanks to you they stopped happening. The important question now is; are we going to have sex?"

The man snorted, then sat back further and guffawed. The chick glanced up at Dean, surprise coloring her features for a moment, before it dissolved into pure speculation.

"C'mon," Dean pushed, spreading his hands, his eyes pleading. "My baby brother is off getting laid. You can't force me to face him tomorrow morning if _I_ haven't gotten any! That would just be cruel!"

She actually laughed at that, sounding honestly amused. "That _would_ be a little cruel," she purred, sitting back and running a hand through her hair. Dean watched the flex of her breasts under her thin shirt. She wasn't wearing a bra, and her tits were tiny, but they were perfect. Because a hot woman who knew she was hot looked good no matter what size her breasts were. Dean wasn't like some guys, all hung up on big boobs. He liked 'em all sizes. And sometimes more than a handful really was too much.

Hell, at this point he'd be happy with _anything_ round and firm. Dean hadn't been with a woman in over three years. There had been that sweet little thing in what had used to be Wyoming, who had almost certainly been underage.... Definitely underage, but she'd been eager and had known what she was doing, and it wasn't as though there could be any laws when there was no one left to enforce them. They'd parted the next morning, everyone was satisfied, and the only regret he'd had was that it had been three years and he hadn't met any other hot, willing chicks since then. Sex with Sam and with other men was great, but he liked it both ways, and there'd been a definitive dearth of pussy in his life since most of the world's women had been turned into zombies or zombie snacks.

"Don't make me beg," he wheedled, putting on his most charming look. Five years and he hadn't gotten any younger, knew that the rough life had weathered his face a little, and there was that nasty scar running down one cheekbone all the way to his jaw, but Sammy said it gave him character and that he looked good, and Sammy wouldn't lie because, hello, _brother_. Besides, whenever he looked in a mirror he thought that he still looked okay. And his smile had always been able to charm him into almost any woman's panties.

He doubted this woman wore panties, and she very obviously had a mind of her own. But she seemed to be considering the suggestion, and so he just smiled a little wider and spread his thighs a bit. Sammy said that he "exuded" sex when he was horny, and Dean hoped that this time it would work in his favor. Even though he still thought it was pretentious of his brother to use words that never saw use outside of novels in everyday conversation -- especially when there had been no one left to impress.

He didn't think Sammy and Claire were doing much talking right now, though, and wasn't that a thought to send up steam. Fuck. After five years -- well, three years, technically -- his brother was getting pussy before him. It was so unfair!

The woman sent a look over her shoulder. "What do you think?" she asked Captain Sexy-Stubble.

He gave Dean an appraising once-over and Dean tried to look as nonthreatening, and at the same time ready for it, as he could. He hoped that this meant what it looked as though it meant... because that guy was fucking hot too. And what was Dean if he wasn't a slut? It had been a _long_ time since he'd had a threesome that didn't involve his brother.

"I'm game," the guy finally decided, his generous mouth quirking, his dark eyes fixed on Dean's face.

"Then I guess it's your lucky day," the woman informed Dean, turning and fixing him with a smoky look of her own that had him hardening in his jeans. Oh, fuck, yeah.

"Sweet," he exclaimed, and then he suddenly felt unaccountably nervous. "We're not gonna be making any babies, though, are we?"

She looked uncomfortable a moment, her mouth tightening and her eyes sliding to the side. "I don't think so," she said, with a little shake of her head. "I don't think that's possible anymore." She fixed him with an intent look all of a sudden. "But you never know what'll happen."

Dean blinked, watched as she stood and stretched. She seemed to shake off the somber mood like an animal shaking off water, and it was an entirely lustful look she turned on him. "Let's go to my tent," she murmured, and her eyes were almost _glowing_. Dean feared for his cock for just a moment, but Captain Sexy-Stubble seemed to be all in one piece, and so he set that reaction aside. She wasn't human and he didn't know what she was, but that didn't matter so much. She was a goddess who was willing to invite him into her tent and, presumably, into her body, and that was more than good enough for him. Hell, that was more than any mortal had a right to ask.

Grabbing his duffel, because he wasn't going _anywhere_ without his weapons, he followed her into the tent. His eyes were fixed on that tight ass in sun-bleached khakis, but he was also acutely aware of the larger body that followed behind him.

He supposed that he ought to feel more wary than he did, considering that he and Sammy had been separated and they didn't know these people. But sometimes you just had to act on instinct. His instincts were sound, and they were telling him that this crowd could be trusted. And so he was willing to trust them.

Besides, he owed this woman if she was really the one who had reclaimed the world from the zombies. And what better way to pay her back than the thing that he was best at?

Although....

"I may be a little rusty," he offered reluctantly, toeing off his boots just inside the tent and placing them carefully on top of his duffel. The tent was spacious, but a good half of it was filled with weapons and crates of what he took to be food. In the other half of the tent was an untidy nest of blankets and a couple pillows. There was a battery-powered lamp on one of the boxes, lighting things enough for them to strip out of their clothes. Which the other two did quickly, and Dean eagerly followed their example.

"Ho?" The man cast him an amused glance and Dean fought not to bristle.

"I mean with a woman!" he snapped, folding his arms and scowling, naked and unashamed. He and Sammy had found a lake to bathe in just the other evening and it had been worth nearly freezing his balls off to be able to say that he was clean now. And as far as physique and... well, _size_ went, he had absolutely nothing to be shy over. Even if this guy was a little larger than him on all counts. "It's been three years," he continued defensively. "I'm not saying I'll suck or that I'm completely out of practice. I'm just warning--"

"I'm sure you'll do fine," the woman purred. She was suddenly in his space, her body heat and the musky scent of her washing over him and making his head swim, her callused fingers closing firmly around his dick.

And he had to believe her, had no reason not to, as she stood on tip-toe, her mouth closing over his, and he placed his own hands on her lean hips, letting them warm there a moment before he palmed her tiny breasts. They were as sweet as they looked, her nipples tickling his palms, and the tiny moan she loosed into his mouth, as well as the distinct tug she gave his cock in response had him all the way hard and aching in a heartbeat, and he was pretty sure that lack of practice wasn't going to be an issue.

Captain Sexy-Stubble let out an appreciative rumble and crossed to turn down the lamp as she led Dean quite literally by his cock over to their makeshift bed. Hooking a leg behind his knee before he could react, she had him on his back in an instant. And that was impressive, because not even Sammy could drop him like that anymore.

"This isn't quite fighting," she said, her voice low and husky, as she straddled his hips, her pussy already heated and moist where it pressed against his lower belly, wiry hairs prickling in that delightful way. "But it can be close."

Dean might have said something, whether in argument or agreement, but then she plastered her mouth over his and stuck her tongue down his throat and her nimble fingers were doing such interesting things to his nipples that he entirely lost his train of thought.

He reached down, running hands over thighs that were even harder than his own, then tracking over her hips and clasping her waist. He sort of missed the soft curves of women from before the zombies, but there was nothing wrong with the stripped-down bodies of the survivors. Well-defined women were hot too, and soft equaled dead in this post apocalyptic world. And doing the dead was definitely at the bottom of Dean's list of....

Of....

Why was he trying to _think_ when he had an incredibly sexy, sensual female writhing above him, her body pressing against his in all the right ways, her hands doing intriguing and exciting things to his prone body?

Even teeth were biting into his lower lip, tugging, and her legs were locked vise-like around his waist, her nails blunt where they pressed into his shoulders, and then she raised her head, her eyes glowing in the dim lighting.

"Are you joining us?" she asked, looking to the side, her voice low, her gaze heavy-lidded. Dean angled his head, licking his stinging lips, tasting her on them and damned if that wasn't making him even harder, if that were possible.

The man's face was completely hidden in shadow, his body backlit by the lamp behind him where he was kneeling on the edge of the blankets, but Dean could see his white teeth gleam as he grinned at them.

"I didn't want to interrupt," he replied, in a voice like honey poured over gravel, and then he was moving, coming up behind her, placing a delicate kiss on one golden shoulder and twining his larger fingers with hers where they rested over Dean's pectoral.

Dean shivered at this touch. It had been three years since he'd been with a woman, but it also had to be coming up on a year and a half since he'd slept with someone who wasn't his brother. And as much as he loved Sammy and as much as he'd taught his younger brother, by both word and example, about the art of sex, there was always something about screwing someone new, with a new touch and new techniques....

And here he had not only one, but two new bedpartners. Two incredibly hot and, as it turned out, very skilled bedpartners. He would be hard put to keep up, but he intended to prove to both of them that he could give as good as he took. In both the literal and the figurative sense.

They fit together remarkably well, better than Dean had expected or had experienced in the past. Curled in the blankets, with the dim lamplight caressing naked, entwined bodies, and her flavor was a little more sweet, his a little more musky, both sets of hands were determined, and Dean was just as ready to taste, to touch, to stroke and delve.

He kissed and licked his way across her collarbones, while teeth tried the cords of his neck, stubble burned the flesh of his shoulder. There was a broad hand at his hip, and it was _her_ hand that slipped behind his balls, caressing him carefully, bringing gooseflesh to the entire surface of his skin.

He gasped, and she kissed him deeply again, their tongues twining. Her fingers traced over his hard cock, tucking it into the humid dampness between her thighs, not inside yet, but held closely, and he locked his arms around her, gripping her fine ass tightly enough to bruise, even while his own ass was breached with a thick, oily finger.

Foreplay abandoned at this point, Dean found his way into her welcoming, enfolding heat, her body closing slick and sucking around his cock, at the same time that the man behind him punched inside, filling him up and pressing against all the right spots. They groaned, all three of them, and shuddered together for a moment, before lurching into movement, and it took them a few strokes to find their rhythm, and even when they did it wasn't perfect, but it was so hot and felt so amazing that it couldn't be anything _other_ than perfect.

She came first, and Dean was a little surprised by that, because he was too distracted by the sensation of being penetrated at the same time he was penetrating to give her as much attention as he usually paid a woman he was boning. And then, while she was shivering and rocking and crying out against him, his own orgasm hit him hard, taking him by surprise and ripping the breath out of his body. A few more thrusts, and there was a gout of blood-hot seed spilled against his balls and thigh, a broad hand leaving grooves in his waist, teeth sunk into his shoulder in what he knew was going to be a bruise, and he was just coherent enough to be grateful that he wasn't going to be leaking semen the next morning.

They lay together, panting for breath, hands moving languidly, the urgency past, just enjoying the gentle touching, and her head was tucked under his chin, against his chest, and there was a warm kiss pressed against his blooming bruise, and Dean let out a contented rumble, sinking into the blankets, both his bedpartners draped over and around him.

And when they started it back up again just ten minutes later, this time teasing each other for almost an hour before Dean found his head buried between her legs, his lips on her pink pussy, his own cock in the wet-hot suction of the man's mouth, he discovered that there was nothing better than stamina and extended foreplay... unless it was the second time they got each other off. Or the third time. And then he thought that maybe there was nothing better than curling up together, warm and replete, exhausted and a little sore from all the fucking, and letting sleep overtake him, and knowing that his bedmates were just as worn out and pleasured as he was.

As he drifted away, the last thing he felt was a soft sigh against his chest, and a wide hand spread possessively over his belly. And there really _couldn't_ have been any better feeling in the universe.

***

The next day Dean woke alone, lying in rumpled blankets that smelled of both his bedmates and their sex. It felt good to come back to consciousness at his own pace, without having to be tense for zombies, or cramped into the Impala. He did miss Sammy's warmth beside him, though.

That, more than anything else, got him to rouse his contented ass out of bed. He wanted to find out how his baby brother had done. Between he and Claire it had to have been spectacular, but Dean was satisfied with the knowledge that however good it had been, his own night had been better.

He dressed as quickly as he had undressed the evening before, in clothes that were as clean as he and Sammy could get them without any laundromats left functioning. Grabbing his boots in one hand and his duffel in the other, he fumbled his way out of the tent.

The morning was clear, still cool, though it would heat up as the sun rose over the pine trees. Someone had gotten the fires going again, and Dean smelled something familiar... something wonderful.

He sat down in the chair from the night before and pulled on his boots. He felt good, and it wasn't just the night that he'd just spent. There was more to it than that. Before he could really ponder on what, though, a hand came into his peripheral vision, extending an offering.

He accepted the steaming mug, cupping it between his hands and breathing in the heavenly scent of coffee. It had been five years.... Great sex, a good night's sleep, and now a cup of coffee. And it was even _good_ coffee. Canada must be heaven, he decided in this instant.

"Good morning," she said, sitting down beside him. There was a smile on her face and her eyes were glowing even more brightly in the daylight. "I'm Alice."

"Carlos," her man said, sinking into the chair next to her.

Dean smiled, glancing over as his younger brother emerge from the tent he had spent the night in, pausing to stretch, then stumbling as Claire pushed him out of the way, headed for the coffee. Sammy was grinning, though, and looked happier than Dean had seen him in five years... heck, in longer than that. Maybe they would stay a while. So long as they were welcome.

"Dean Winchester," he said, reaching out and clasping the hand that Alice offered. "Like the rifle."

Carlos chuckled and Alice grinned. Claire and Sammy joined them at the fire, Claire focused and Sammy loose-limbed and relaxed. It made pleasure swell inside Dean's heart to see his brother like this.

The zombies were no longer roaming the Earth and there was repopulating and rebuilding to do. A fucking delicious cup of coffee seemed the perfect way to start. Dean sat back.

Sammy smiled, Dean smiled back, and finally, after five years, all was right with the world.


End file.
